The chronicles of Enguerrand de Monstrelet, Vol. 12 [of 13] — A Reader’s Guide
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It was wonderful to observe the cool and determined valour of the gallant king, both in actions, and in speeches to those about his person: 'How say you, my lords and friends? Are you not resolved to serve me well to-day? and will you not live and die with me?' Then having heard their answers, he continued, 'Be of good courage, and not afraid; for although they be ten times our number,--which is the case, as I know for certain,--yet we have justice on our side, for which I put my confidence in God, that he will be pleased to give us the victory over our enemies. I have also hopes that he will fight this day on our side, and that, through his gracious favour, we shall again triumph, as we have done throughout the whole of this expedition, and return to France with honour to ourselves, through his merciful kindness.' Such, or nearly similar, were the words with which this valorous king consoled and encouraged all around him.
The enemy were much surprised at the good order of the French; and to endeavour to break it, they sent a detachment of Estradiots, and some Albanians, across a hill, to fall on the baggage. Those who had the guard of it had been very negligent in not keeping themselves in readiness to resist an attack, by reason of some dispute among themselves, for which they suffered; but it was not much, as shall be told hereafter,--and the army remained unbroken.
The Italians, seeing this, sent a herald to the king to demand a truce. The king replied,--'If they wish for a truce, let them meet me between the two armies.' But he afterward sent to them, to say, that if they would, through friendship, allow him and his army a free passage to France, it was all he wanted, otherwise he would force his passage in spite of them.
The Lombards and Venetians, hearing this message from the king's herald, detained him, and resolved instantly to charge the French, like madmen. They were particularly desirous to attack the division where the king was, to put him to death,--but God was that day his Protector. The advanced guard, perceiving the enemy thus hastily marching, informed the king of their gaining the woods and bushes; on which he crossed the bed of the Taro, and each army was in sight of the other. In fact, the Italians were handsomely equipped and mounted, and advanced with the appearance of a determined courage, as they were far superior in numbers to the French. Their best men were placed in front,--and the first onset was very severe on both sides. As they had been informed by their herald how the king was dressed, their chief attack was made on his division, and with such success that they advanced to his person; but he displayed great valour, and was so heartily seconded by those near him that the enemies were completely repulsed, with immense slaughter; even the boldest among them attributed their highest honour to him who could fly the fastest; for when they saw the day was lost, the best piece of all their armour was the point of their spurs.
Only one man of rank was made prisoner on the side of the French, namely, Matthew bastard of Bourbon, who had most valiantly defended the king, and he was taken when pursuing the enemy up to their lines. Not more than nine or ten french gentlemen were killed, although their enemies were ten to one against them, the greater part of whom saved themselves by flight. This proves, beyond a doubt, that Divine Providence assisted the French, and gave them the victory over their disloyal enemies, who were conquered in so very short a space of time. The king remained the whole of the day armed and on horseback, and until the whole of his army had retired within their camp. Thither came ambassadors to him from the Italians, to demand the prisoners; but they were answered, that they should not be restored,--which astonished them greatly, as they feared that some of their first nobility had been either killed or made prisoners.
The king and his nobles, in sign of triumph and victory, supped and lay on the field of battle,--where they ate and drank what they could find, and as it pleased God, to whom they gave their most humble thanksgivings and praises for their success, as indeed they were bounden to do.
[Footnote 8: Estradiots,--a sort of light horse, or a militia.]
THE KING DECAMPS FROM FORONUOVO, TO RETURN TO FRANCE.
This twelfth volume of Enguerrand de Monstrelet's chronicles opens with King Charles VIII's triumphant entry into Naples, then shifts rapidly to his death from apoplexy at Amboise. The narrative proceeds through the reign of Louis XII, detailing the capture of Ludovico Sforza, the reconquest of Naples, and the complex maneuvers of Italian and German princes. The chronicle's structure is episodic, moving between theaters of war—from the battle of Foronuovo to the siege of Novara—and punctuated by ceremonial events such as the king's pilgrimage to the Holy Handkerchief in Chambery. Monstrelet's account is less a unified story than a series of linked dispatches, each chapter marking a new phase in the French crown's ambitions abroad.
Movement Between Theaters
The chronicle's structure is defined by rapid shifts in location, often within a single chapter. The narrative moves from Naples to Foronuovo, then to Amboise for Charles VIII's death, and onward to Milan, Lyon, and Chambery. These transitions are not merely geographical; they reflect the itinerant nature of royal power. The king's pilgrimage on foot to Chambery, described as a 'handsome spectacle' with attendants in 'fancy habiliments,' contrasts with the brutal sack of Lodi, where the emperor's army 'plundered and burnt great part of the town.' Monstrelet juxtaposes ceremonial processions with scenes of violence, creating a rhythm of triumph and devastation. The chronicler often notes the distances traveled—'from Lyon to Chambery'—and the timing of events, such as the king's arrival in Paris on 'Saturday, the 6th day of October.' These details anchor the narrative in a concrete geography, even as the political landscape shifts unpredictably.
Recurring Images of Siege and Surrender
Siege warfare dominates the volume, with castles and towns repeatedly attacked, captured, or surrendered. The Castel Nuovo and Castel del Ovo in Naples fall early; later, the castle of Brescia is yielded by treaty, its garrison marching away 'with their arms and baggage.' Monstrelet's descriptions are terse but vivid: the emperor's army 'plundered and burnt great part of the town, and put to death many of the inhabitants, which was a great pity.' The phrase 'great pity' is a rare moral comment, standing out in an otherwise matter-of-fact account. Other sieges are resolved by bribery, as when the inhabitants of Milan are 'bribed into subjection.' The chronicler treats these events as routine, yet the cumulative effect is one of relentless conflict. The reader observes a pattern: a town is taken, its leaders killed or ransomed, and the narrative moves on to the next campaign.
Diplomatic Maneuvers and Treaties
Interspersed with military action are detailed accounts of treaties and negotiations. The peace between France and Spain, concluded at Noyon, includes a marriage alliance: the king of Spain is to marry the princess Louisa, 'only daughter to the king of France.' Monstrelet lists the commissioners—'the grand master, the bishop of Paris, the president Olivier'—and notes the arrival of ambassadors such as the lord de Ravenstein, 'grandly accompanied by the barons of Picardy.' These passages are dense with names and titles, reflecting the chronicler's interest in the formalities of power. The treaty is proclaimed 'at Paris and throughout the realm,' a public act that contrasts with the secret payments mentioned elsewhere, such as the emperor pocketing 'fifty thousand angels' from the king of England. Monstrelet's chronicle thus records both open diplomacy and covert transactions, offering a layered view of statecraft.
Ceremony as Political Theater
Ceremonial events punctuate the narrative, serving as moments of display and legitimacy. Charles VIII's public entry into Naples as 'king of that country and monarch of all Italy' is a set piece, though the chronicle provides few details of the spectacle. More striking is the pilgrimage to the church of the Holy Handkerchief, where the king walks on foot with his train 'splendidly dressed in fancy habiliments, decorated with plenty of feathers.' This image of piety and pageantry is followed by the king's visit to St Denis to 'replace the saints in their shrines,' a ritual thanking them for victory. Monstrelet notes that this was 'the usual custom for the kings of France,' embedding the event in tradition. These ceremonies are not mere interludes; they are acts of political theater that reinforce royal authority. The chronicler records them with the same precision as battles, treating ritual as a form of power.
Readers approaching this volume should expect a narrative that moves quickly between campaigns and courts, with little pause for reflection. Monstrelet's chronicle is best read as a series of discrete episodes, each shedding light on the mechanics of late medieval warfare and diplomacy. Pay attention to the recurring motifs of siege, treaty, and ceremony, which together reveal the rhythms of power in an age of constant conflict.
The clatter of horses through Milan must have felt like a rumor to Monstrelet, half-remembered from a distance. It reminds me of the chill I felt reading about Paris’s streets filling with crowds and cannons. Diplomacy’s quiet urgency in both eras haunts me—fragile, decisive. That same unsettled breath lived within Revolutionary Europe, 1789-1815 — Context and Discussion, where a gasp of change altered everything.
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